


Rusty Lake Paradise

by RustyLakeFan



Category: Rusty Lake | Cube Escape (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RustyLakeFan/pseuds/RustyLakeFan
Summary: "Jakob, the oldest son of the Eilander family, is returning to Paradise island after his mother passed away. Since her mysterious death, the island seems to be cursed by the ten plagues."
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. The Letter

_April 22, 1796_

_My dear son Jakob,_

_I’m sorry to inform you that your mother passed away. Please return to Paradise. We need you here._

_Your Father_

I folded the parchment again, slowly, before sliding it back into the envelope it had arrived in. The small wooden box on my desk was nearly empty, except for a few supplies I thought I might need on my journey - a spool of fishing line, a handkerchief, and the end of last night’s loaf of bread. I placed the letter on top and closed and latched the box.  
  
“Leaving already?”  
  
I turned around to see Eva in the doorway, apron already dirtied from the morning’s work. Thin, blond wisps of hair had escaped from under her bonnet, and her face was red and glistened with sweat.  
  
“I have to go,” I replied.  
  
“I know I can’t stop you, and I won’t. But promise me you’ll be careful.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
She had a rag twisted in her hands, and I could see her knuckles whiten. Her brow furrowed, and she had the same expression on her face that I had seen countless times over the years of living on the farm with her - the face she wore when the cow kicked me as I milked her, when my knife slipped as I butchered the chickens, when I fell off a ladder and nearly broke my shoulder.  
  
“You don’t remember much about Paradise, do you?”   
  
Truthfully, I didn’t. I, of course, remembered my parents, my brother, and my sister. I had memories of the still, glassy lake and the iron gray mountains that seemed to keep the world out and shut us in. The smell of burning wood or the sound of bird calls always gave me a feeling similar to deja vu, except there was no memory beneath it for me to recall.  
  
“I’ll be careful.”  
  
Eva wiped her hands on her apron and placed one hand on my cheek. I could smell the wheat she had been grinding, mixed with the scent of dust and the lavender oil she liked to wear.  
  
“Help my daughter rest peacefully,” she said.  
  
I nodded. “I will.”

  


As I walked down the stone path around the property, the Vanderboom house loomed over me, as if rebuking me for leaving. The large, dark windows made the house seem empty. Only a single window was lit, with my grandmother’s silhouette watching me leave. She closed the curtains as I rounded the corner.  
  
My boat was tethered by the edge of the river that led to Rusty Lake. In the fading darkness of the sunrise, I could see just well enough to weave my way through the waist-high reeds without twisting my ankles on the stones by the water. I waved the whining mosquitoes away as I set my box and machete in the little wooden boat. I took a deep breath, my eyes on the house, as I began to row.


	2. Arrival

The journey upriver was quite peaceful. I rowed past farms and markets, clusters of bustling life. Small stone buildings dotted the landscape - the mill to the west, a chapel and a log cabin to the east. Pine trees covered every hill on either side, leading up to the sides of the great rocky mountains.

  
I didn’t need to turn around to know when I was getting close to Paradise. As I neared the island, almost all sound melted away - there were no cows or goats bleating in the nearby farmland, no children shouting as they played, no men calling to each other as they worked outside. It was nearly silent, except for the water lapping against my boat and the occasional crow call echoing over the lake. The stink of manure was replaced by pine and smoke. After hours of rowing, my muscles ached, and I could feel the autumn chill in my increasingly numb hands. My stomach turned when I saw the familiar forest in the center of the island, surrounded by a tall wooden fence. A single tower rose above the trees, surveying all below it. When I looked closer, I saw that a man was standing on a rock next to the pier. As my boat drew closer, I recognized the lanky form of my brother. 

  
My boat ground against the bottom of the lake, and I jumped onto the pier to tether it. David stayed where he was, still watching.

  
“It’s been a while, brother,” he called out. I nodded. 

  
“Lend a hand?” I asked, holding the rope out.

  
“No.” He folded his arms and smiled thinly.

  
“You haven’t changed much since I left.”

  
I finished tying the boat up and stared at David, absorbing his appearance and wondering if it would bring up any memories. He had a hat on that covered his short red hair and shaded his dark, deep-set eyes. The stubble on his chin and upper lip were new to me, and accented his sharp, gaunt features. He was only a small child when I left; he must have been nearing adulthood now.

  
“No, but everything else has.”

  
“Like what?” I asked.

  
“Look down.”

  
I glanced down at the lake and realized for the first time that the water surrounding the island was a deep red. 

  
“That looks like —”

  
“Blood,” he affirmed. “Watch this.”

  
He crouched down and grabbed a handle sticking out of the lake next to the rock. He lifted a net out of the red water, completely filled with shrimp. “I’ve seen shrimp before,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “Hand me your knife.”

  
I gave him my machete. In one swift movement, he laid a shrimp on the rock and hacked it in half. Inside the shrimp was a mass of crimson leeches, almost purple - more leeches than it seemed could have possibly fit into the shrimp’s small body.

“That’s revolting.”

“You know, they don’t taste half bad.”

  
“You’ve been eating the leeches?” I couldn’t keep the disgust and disbelief out of my voice - or off my face.

  
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” David hopped off the rock, bringing the net of leech-infested shrimp with him. “Are you coming?”

  
I followed him to the gate. Someone had scratched “Paradise” into the cedar plank above the doors. David knocked loudly and called out, “Let me in.”

  
There were two small windows on the left door, one of which opened to reveal a set of brown eyes and a lock of red hair. 

  
“Not until I get what I asked for,” the deep voice behind the door replied.

  
David rolled his eyes. “What do you think I’ve got?” He reached into the net and waved a handful of shrimp in front of the window. The second window opened and a hand stretched out. David gave the man the shrimp and both windows closed.

  
Moments later, the gates swung open to reveal a pathway through a thick birch forest.

  
“Good luck,” said David. He turned and walked back to his rock. I swallowed all the questions and fears I had, and walked in.  



	3. Margaret

The gate closed behind me, shutting out the daylight. White birch trees stretched towards the sky and left little room between them. I followed the dirt path, unsure of what I was looking for or what would be waiting for me.

  
After a short while, I rounded a corner to see an old woman in a brown woolen dress and a beige bonnet, likely dirtied and yellowed from age, with her back to me, sitting on a stool and milking a goat. The goat bleated as I walked up the path, and the woman turned.

  
“Good to see you, grandson,” she said. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  
“Thank you,” I said.

  
My father’s mother. I remembered little about her. I scanned her face for any sort of clues to old memories of my childhood - but her appearance brought up nothing. If I had met her anywhere else, I would not have distinguished her from any other old woman. She had the same hunched over posture, calloused hands, and stocky build as every farmer’s wife eventually inherited over the years.

  
She sniffled, and I looked closer. For a moment, I thought her nose was bleeding - but then the blood wriggled. I grimaced as I watched the writhing red thing coming out of her nose. After a few minutes of struggling, out fell a fat, purple-red leech. I simply stared in disgust and disbelief, but Margaret appeared unfazed. She bit into the leech, turned, and resumed milking the goat in silence. I took a step back, unsure if I should try to talk to her or leave her alone.

  
“If you pass the water pump on your way, bring some back for the goat,” she said, all but kicking an empty bucket towards me as I walked away. I stooped to pick up the bucket and saw that the bottom was stained with red.

  
At first glance, the forest seemed devoid of life. However, as I looked closer, I saw beetles and ants scuttling over bark and under roots. Fireflies flashed dimly in the corner of my eyes, and I could hear feathers ruffling against each other and wings flapping as some type of bird almost silently made its way from tree to tree. The sound of an ax chopping wood echoed from a distance, and underneath, the deep sound of a drum beating.

  
At last, I came upon a small, dilapidated building. Except for the faint candlelight visible through the window, it appeared to be abandoned. It was in poor shape, made of faded, crumbling brick and a half-collapsed roof that surely leaked in every rainfall. The cracks in the walls and slumped door and shutters that barely fit in their spaces betrayed how cold the house must get in the winter.

  
A wooden carving of an owl stood guard by the door. The body was solid blond birch wood, but its eyes were pitch black. They seemed to be made of a different material, somehow catching and reflecting brilliant light in the dimness of the forest.

  
I pushed the house’s thin door open. As I stepped in, the world spun around me and everything faded to black.


	4. Memory

“Do you remember the story of Exodus, Jakob?”

Caroline was cradling a Bible in her arms as she rocked gently in the rocking chair. Jakob sat in front of her, no older than four, transfixed by his mother’s voice.

“It’s a story of freedom,” she continued. “The Pharaoh’s heart was stubborn, and he refused to let the people go.”

“Go!” said Jakob.

“And do you know what happened first?”

Jakob shook his head.

“All the waters that were in the river were turned to blood. And the fish that were in the river died, and the river became foul, and the Egyptians could not drink water from the river; and the blood was throughout all the land of Egypt.”

“I don’t like blood,” said Jakob.

“Do you think the Pharaoh let his people go?”

“No!” cried Jakob. He stood up and crawled onto his mother’s lap. “I want to see.”

“There are no pictures, but I can show you what’s coming next,” she said. She pulled out a toy frog off the shelf behind her.

“Frog!”

“Exactly. The river shall swarm with frogs, which shall go up and come into thy house, and into thy bed-chamber, and upon thy bed —”

“No! No frogs in bed!”

Caroline laughed as Jakob made the toy frog jump up and down her arm.

“What happened next?” she whispered.

Jakob frowned, deep in thought. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

She lightly scratched his scalp and said, “Lice!”

Jakob shrieked.

“Stretch out thy rod, and smite the dust of the earth, that it may become lice throughout all the land of Egypt. And then…” She held out a finger. Every time she touched Jakob with her finger, she made a buzzing noise. He squirmed and giggled.

“Shoo fly!”

“Flies! If thou wilt not let my people go, behold, I will send swarms of flies upon thee.”

“I catch the flies,” Jakob said. He clapped his hands on Caroline’s finger. “No more flies.”

“If thou refuse to let them go, behold, the hand of the Lord is upon thy cattle, upon the horses, upon the asses, upon the camels, upon the flocks! All the animals got sick!”

“I can make them better.”

“You’ll make our cow and goat feel better?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re such a sweet boy. The Lord said, ‘Take to you handfuls of soot of the furnace, and let Moses throw it heavenward. It shall become small dust over the land of Egypt and shall be boils breaking forth upon man and beast.’”

Jakob climbed off Caroline’s lap and picked up a handful of ashes from the hearth. He tossed the ashes up into the air. “Boils! Ew!”

“Oh, Jakob, now you’re all dirty. Come here.”

He sat on her lap as she read the rest.

“The Lord sent thunder and hail, and fire ran down unto the earth; and the Lord caused to hail upon the land of Egypt. So there was hail, and fire flashing up amidst the hail, very grievous, such as had not been in all the land of Egypt since it became a nation.

“If thou refuse to let my people go, behold, tomorrow will I bring locusts into thy border, and they shall cover the face of the earth, that one shall not be able to see the earth; and they shall eat every tree which groweth for you out of the field, and thy houses shall be filled.

“Stretch out thy hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, even darkness which may be felt.” She covered Jakob’s eyes.

“Then what?” Jakob asked, pulling her hand off his face.

The front door slammed shut. “Caroline!” came a shout.

Caroline leapt up from the chair so quickly, Jakob went tumbling to the floor with a cry. She stuffed the Bible behind the shelf and picked up Jakob, trying to soothe him despite her own frightened face.

“Shh, Daddy’s home,” she whispered.


	5. Nicholas

My brow was covered in sweat, and my clothes clung to my damp skin. Somehow, I was still standing. My vision slowly returned to me, and I glanced wildly around the room, trying to orient myself.   


The poorly lit shack had only one room. It seemed like wherever my eyes landed, little creatures scuttled further into the shadows - spiders retreating to dark corners, beetles settling back in crevices in the walls, unknown spirits melting into the darkness. Despite the dirt floor and cracked, peeling walls (water damage, no doubt), my father sat at a table draped in a spotless white tablecloth. He watched me over his wineglass, a cloth napkin tucked in at the neck to protect his waistcoat and charcoal gray woolen coat. He had a plate in front of him with a single shrimp on it, cracked open to reveal a tangle of leeches.

  
I stared, unsure of what to say. It had been so long since I had left the island, and to return with no memory of what had happened here…

  
“My dear son,” my father said. He stood up and motioned to me with the wineglass. “Please, I’m thirsty.”

  
I swallowed my questions. 

“The water pump is outside. It’s good to see you.” He sat back down, unmoving, waiting for me to fetch him water.

  
As I started out the door, my eyes fell on the two portraits hanging on the wall. One was a family portrait - “The Eilander Family.”

  
The portrait must have been almost two decades old. There was my uncle, Gerard, standing behind Grandma Margaret. She was holding a baby - David. Next to them stood my sister, Elizabeth, then me, and my parents. No one was smiling, except for my mother. Her thin smile looked flat, empty; it did not reach her eyes. My father looked stern as ever, in the same formal outfit, his hand gripping my mother’s shoulder. My eyes were sunken, my body thin. Elizabeth’s hair was unkempt and shaggy. She looked almost afraid. What was she afraid of?

  
Darkness set in around the edges of my vision once more, and I nearly fell over. I could hear whispers and distant screams; alarmed, I looked at my father, but he didn’t appear to hear them, or even notice my sudden near-collapse. I struggled to understand what the whispers were saying, but I couldn’t make out a single word. Gripping the table for strength, I stepped closer to the portrait of my mother.

  
Caroline Eilander. Her faint smile and warm brown eyes seemed to make the whispers grow louder. Her red hair was tucked inside a bonnet. Upon looking closer, I noticed heavy circles under her eyes and an unexplained strain behind her smile. What caused her death?

  
“How did she —?” I started to say.

  
“My dear son. Please, I’m thirsty,” my father replied. 


	6. Corrupted Soul

Pitcher in hand, I made my way to the water pump. Truth be told, I could have used a glass of water as well. I lifted the handle, and out poured the deep blood-red liquid. Was it blood? Was it water? I didn’t want to taste to find out. On my way back to the house, I noticed the gate to the other side of the beach.

The forest floor, sheltered by the trees’ canopies, had already started off dim; however, when I opened the gate, all the limited light in the forest seemed to melt away, replaced by thick fog and a heavy darkness. 

I was not alone.

Ahead of me stood a tall, black figure, blacker than the shadows that surrounded it. It was almost humanoid, except for its eyes. I squinted, almost blinded by their white glow. They were larger than a person’s eyes should be, but I knew that whatever it was could see everything. I felt like it could see into my mind and soul, like it was examining everything to the core under its gaze. 

I barely noticed the sound of breaking glass as the pitcher fell from my frozen hands. Then the figure began to speak. 

I gasped and clamped my hands over my ears. Its language was nothing I had ever heard before - it was metallic, loud, high-pitched, and jumbled. If swords could scream, it would be less ghastly than this. Somehow I understood what it was saying, as if it had a direct link to my brain.

It slowly lifted an arm to point at me. “Bring my memories to the lake, and the lake will stop bleeding.”

As suddenly as it had appeared, so too, it vanished. Light slowly seeped back into the forest, and from a distance, I could hear the sounds of life returning - birds chirping, insects buzzing, leaves blowing in the breeze. 

Stumbling, terrified, I followed the path to the lake, almost as if something else were controlling my movements. There was a round stone building, old and decaying, on the shore. Its white roof gleamed in the sun, and the owl statue on top of the dome had the same piercing black eyes as the statue in front of my father’s hovel.

It had a single empty door frame and window. They goaded me, mocked me, as I continued to the water. What are you afraid of? they asked. Don’t you remember what you came here for? What you were born to become?

As I neared the vividly red puddle by the shore, bubbles floated to the surface - and that wasn’t all. A pine coffin rose from the depths to where the silt met the gently lapping lake. Pushing away thoughts of what else could be lurking below, I stepped out and reached to touch the top of the wooden box. It had a simple cross carved into it, as well as the name Caroline Eilander.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. My mother’s coffin. Something compelled me to lift the lid. Nausea turned my stomach, and my mouth went dry - no, no, I don’t want to see her - but it felt like my body was no longer in my control. Despite my internal resistance, my trembling hands began to pry the coffin open. With a loud crack, the lid released its grip on the coffin’s body.

I sighed in relief and closed my eyes. Her remains were not in the coffin. Instead, the coffin was almost completely empty, though filled with blood. There were etchings on the inside of the coffin, as well. Had she carved these images? I shuddered to imagine my mother buried alive, clawing at the walls. I didn’t recognize the symbols. A triangle with a line through it, a circle with a dot in the center, a square with two lines creating a V in the center. What did they mean? 

A small black cube rested in the bottom. I reached out for it, but before I could touch it, it levitated and hovered above the coffin. As soon as it was level with my eyes, I was overcome by a vision.

In front of me, surrounding the coffin, were five figures. A man on the left in a boar mask, a woman in a pheasant mask, a man in a rabbit mask, and a woman in a pigeon mask stood silently and watched as the central figure, a man in white robes and a deer mask, held the black cube. Their eyes were dark; I could not tell if they were looking at me or if they were even truly alive. They were motionless as the man in the deer mask began to speak.

“Please take our sacrifice and enlighten us!”

As he spoke, the cube appeared to disintegrate, black vapors rising into the air. 

Then as suddenly as the vision had started, it was over.

My eyes opened to see the black cube fall back into the coffin, where it landed with a heavy clunk, like it was made of metal. I picked it up, surprised to feel that it was almost weightless. 

I made my way back to the temple. The temple had only a single feature inside - a well in the center of the small room. The walls and the well were made of a white, dusty stone. The well featured a painting of Paradise. The mountains and lake were the backdrop to a meadow lined with pine trees - all familiar and true to its source. However, this painting showed a variety of strange additions: a cow on its side, two enormous flying insects, frogs, a red river, and two odd figures, one running and one sitting down. The ten plagues.

Above the well hung a golden fixture of a winged cube. I glanced down into the bloody well before reaching up to open the golden cube. I placed the black cube inside - a perfect fit - and the fixture descended into the well. A bright light filled the building, and when the light faded and my eyes readjusted to the dimness of the temple, I noticed that the red river had disappeared from the painting.


End file.
